


Character Study Skills and Lack of Thereof

by Bajun



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 19:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11492844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bajun/pseuds/Bajun
Summary: Modern AU. Les Amis de l'ABC are a group of writers, while Grantaire is a book illustrator, who dabbles in critiquing the works of Enjolras. Because of course he does.





	Character Study Skills and Lack of Thereof

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gellert](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gellert/gifts).



Grantaire woke up from his dead slumber. Somebody was incessantly banging on the door of his apartment. Still half-asleep, he stumbled towards it, moaning.

“Who’s there?”

“The French Revolution”

He opened the door to the sight of his writer friend (we are not really friends, his mind autocorrected). The sight was not particularly unusual, and yet Grantaire’s mood got a few shades brighter.

“Enjolras, it was funny the first time you said it”

“But you knew it was me”

“No shit, Sherlock” mumbled Grantaire, stepping aside to let him in.

“And it’s shorter than yelling out my name”

Grantaire threw an unbelieving glance his way, opened his mouth, sighed, closed it again.

“I can’t even,” he finally said, resignedly. “You can count. Words and syllables. You just want to be original”

Enjolras shrugged noncommittally, opened his bag and gave Grantaire a relatively thin manuscript.

“Can you read it for me?” 

It was a usual practice for them. Enjolras liked to think sometimes that he was his own harshest critic, but it was not strictly speaking true. Grantaire was. The insufferable prick would sit at the meetings of their writers’ club (that they at some point pompously started to call Les Amis de l’ABC), barely listening and almost always drinking, make googly eyes at him, and still somehow manage to collect his thoughts and destroy every word Enjolras would read out loud. So at some point Enjolras figured out that the best way of avoiding the public humiliation would be to come directly to the source of that very humiliation. That’s when he started bringing his works for proofreading. 

It took Grantaire about 15 minutes to make an opinion about this one.

“I have to say, it might be your worst one so far”

“It’s barely the first draft, what do you think of the idea?”

“The idea is fine, I guess. But you have to do the research. Also, Russia in 1917? Why? I mean, very dramatic, but really? You’ve never been good at historic fiction”

“I’ve never written historic fiction before”

“Exactly my point. Coffee?”

Enjolras silently followed Grantaire into the cramped kitchen. It was as messy as it was small, with drawing pencils in the coffee mugs, and coffee stains on the pencil cups. And books, everywhere. Grantaire used to call them “occupational hazard”. It all should’ve driven usually orderly Enjolras insane, only it never did. Instead it was cozy in a weird sort of way. 

Grantaire looked at him from the stove, somehow still surprised that Enjolras being here, in his space, has become so easy so quickly. The stubborn graphomaniac was incredibly patient while not faced with the task of defending himself in public. 

The smell of burnt coffee distracted him.

“Shit!”

He quickly turned the stove off, poured the coffee in two cups and started to write the list of sources for Enjolras.

 

***

 

A couple of weeks later Enjolras was reading an extract of his latest draft to Les Amis de l’ABC. The only person in the room, that has not actually considered himself a writer, was Grantaire. As a book illustrator, he sometimes claimed that he hanged out with the “useless writers” for strictly professional reasons, to better understand their twisted minds and such. However, it was a common knowledge, that a) he liked this crowd in general, and b) he had a hopeless crush on Enjolras. At times Grantaire even tried to reason with himself and explain the nature of the aforementioned crush, to varying success. The thing was, to Grantaire Enjolras seemed to be everything Grantaire was not. Artistic, inspired, caring. Handsome. So very handsome. Even now, reading his stupid (though objectively slightly improved) book out loud, he was gorgeous…

“R, can you look slightly less bored, please?” 

And now the gorgeous man was glaring at him. 

“I would, if this whole meeting was slightly less boring” he sniggered. He couldn’t help himself, outside of the safety of his apartment he had an almost constant urge to snide. 

“I don’t get it” Enjolras was getting exasperated quickly. “You say that you’re bored, and you always claim that art’s useless, and yet you come here all the time, and you create art as a job”

“I make illustrations, it’s craft, not art. I don’t do art”

“Just artists” 

“Making jokes about my sexuality never gets old, does it?”

That was what Enjolras found especially infuriating about him: Grantaire never lost his cool, almost never raised his voice, while his deliberate smartass bites never failed to make Enjolras loose his shit. He hated to feel like he can’t get through to this one person, to get a reaction, good or bad. Well, to be fair, there was a certain reaction, he was not completely oblivious to the lustful glances he regularly received from Grantaire’s corner, but it felt so… superficial. 

“Fuck you” Enjolras sniped, surprising even himself. That escalated quickly.

“Well, fuck you back” answered Grantaire, shrugging his shoulders and showing that he’s not willing to continue this conversation.

Enjolras glared some more, but ultimately went back to reading.

 

***

 

Back into Grantaire’s apartment, they were sitting side by side on the couch, keeping amicable silence, like they never had the need to piss each other off. Grantaire was going through the pages, filled with “notes to self”, with some parts crossed out, some added hastily, like the writer was afraid of losing that particular thought. One paragraph, typed in bold to signify that it was added recently, caught his attention. 

“You know that you’re plagiarizing that bit, right?”

Enjolras looked through it.

“Am I?”

“Yep. It’s Tolstoy. You paraphrased it, but still”

“I might have. I was reading War and Peace for a source”

“Wrong epoch” Grantaire looked at him like he was an idiot and then unexpectedly smiled. “God, you’re lucky that you’re pretty”

Enjolras could feel the fury that started to bubble inside. This dick was doing it again, validating him for his looks, not for… him. His books, his words, that was him, and that was the thing that Grantaire was always mocking.

“I know. I used it for character study”

“Yeah, right” Grantaire answered distractedly, already reading through the next pages. “Character study. You’ve based most of these characters on the people you know, it’s obvious. What’s there to study?”

“Fine, I study the patterns in which they speak. And the names, they are tricky as hell”

“True. Oh, that’s actually pretty clever”

Enjolras excitedly looked over his shoulder and immediately felt another pang of disappointment.

“Actually, that’s a direct quote” 

Grantaire furrowed his brow and turned to him.

“Really? I don’t remember it. Who said it?”

Enjolras looked at him in disbelief. Was he fucking kidding him?

“You! You did, a few weeks back”

“Oh… As I said, pretty clever”

 

***

 

Another writers’ club meeting, another reading. Only this time Grantaire is listening with uncharacteristic attention, and Enjolras realizes that he’s in deep trouble, because his faithful critic is clearly gathering ammunition. He reads through the last page and braces himself for what’s coming.

“I’ll make you a cover” says Grantaire matter-of-factly. 

“Wait. What?” 

He must have misheard him or something.

“I like it. You did good. I’ll make you a cover”

Surreal. That’s the word he would use, if he were not currently speechless.

 

***

 

The banging. Why does he always have to bang so loud? Like it’s always an emergency or something. As soon as Grantaire opens the door, Enjolras storms in, sits himself on the couch and lays a few papers next to himself.

“I need you to read this chapter one more time”

“Why? The book’s almost perfect” Grantaire is not in the mood to exercise his mind right now, but he obligingly takes the papers and sits down.

“I’ve made a few tweaks”

Grantaire starts reading, while Enjolras stares at him attentively. The further he reads, the more blank his expression becomes. He reads through the last paragraph and carefully places the manuscript on his lap.

“That’s very graphic” is his first comment. Enjolras just keeps staring. “Isn’t Grigory based on me?” Enjolras nods. “And you based Andrey on yourself?” Another nod. “Is it… accurate?”

Enjolras smirks.

“It’s a porno version of a chapter of historic fiction book. How can it possibly be accurate?”

“You know what I mean!” 

Here, he did it, he finally made the stoic Grantaire loose his composure. Although, as good as this triumph feels, Enjolras can’t help noticing that Grantaire looks like he’s half a step away from physical violence. So, he replaces the piece of smutty fiction on Grantaire’s lap with his butt and goes for a kiss.

 

***

 

Enjolras is lying with his head on Grantaire’s chest, the other man’s hand holding him, warm and possessive. Grantaire’s breathing is calm and deep, and Enjolras assumes that he’s sleeping, until he hears his voice.

“I thought you were an asexual freak of nature, or worse, straight. And you were so into your writing, you barely noticed anything that wasn’t directly connected to it”

“I can multitask. I can care about my writing, and notice your fine ass” Enjolras looks uncharacteristically smug. 

“Then why the fuck haven’t you said something?” Grantaire tries to sound threatening, he really does.

Enjolras looks at him, weighing how much honesty he can afford at this moment, without sounding like too much of a sap. 

“I knew you liked me, I just… wanted you to be proud of me first, I guess”

Grantaire sniggers.

“I find your character study skills spectacularly lacking” he says, kissing Enjolras’ forehead fondly.

“Back at you” Enjolras snorts. “Straight! Preposterous”


End file.
